


The Tragedy of Auros and Farrine

by Once a Bard (bossyluigi)



Series: DnD: An Anthology [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Half-Elves, Tieflings, We love star-crossed lovers, especially those who's whole thing is 'fuck religion', it's a good time, who end up with tormented children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27809962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossyluigi/pseuds/Once%20a%20Bard
Summary: Barnabae de Diabolo Sermo…Son of Mother Farrine and Father Auros…The House of the Twelve finds you an unfit servant…On behalf of the Twelve, we hereby pardon you of your sins......and ask you to take your leave.This is the first in an anthology of short stories highlighting original DnD characters and the stories built around them, their backstories, and their adventures.These were written for NaNoWriMo 2019.
Relationships: Original D&D Character(s)/Original D&D Character(s), Original Dungeons & Dragons Character(s) & Original Dungeons & Dragons Character(s)
Series: DnD: An Anthology [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034781
Kudos: 1





	The Tragedy of Auros and Farrine

_Barnabae de Diabolo Sermo…_   
_Son of Mother Farrine and Father Auros…_   
_The House of the Twelve finds you an unfit servant…_   
_On behalf of the Twelve, we hereby pardon you of your sins..._   
_...and ask you to take your leave._

  
It had been home.

Eighteen years, this had been home.

The faces of the Twelve served as substitutions for parental roles where blood had abandoned and the Faith had disowned. Were the Twelves’ chosen not meant to take up the challenges the divines had placed at their feet? Perhaps they knew little of their own opinions; how those blackened thoughts marked the darker mysteries of the world without first giving chance to the blooming innocence of the young tiefling boy who roamed the convent halls. 

He was born out of love, as most children often are, to loving parents in the secluded home they’d built for themselves. His father, “Fealty”, Auros to those he loved and who loved him in return, was a tiefling of demonic blood on trial for the betrayal of his own. A half-elven woman had won over his heart and loyalty without much contest.

A chance meeting between the two sparked the series of meetings that would draw them nearer and nearer. Late-night conversations unbeknownst to the world around them became common. Gifts and letters signed and sealed with words of adoration filled the knots of trees for the other to stumble upon. Who would’ve ever thought one of Auros’ own brothers would be the one to find such intimate declarations of love? 

“Care to explain?”

That familiar parchment, that familiar handwriting, it wasn’t his own but one he recognized all too well. The grin on his brother’s face was too smug for his liking.

“I never took you for a romantic.” A quick and exaggerated unfolding of the letter revealed the words he had yet to read for himself, the words his beloved had written for his eyes only.

“Listen to this, Fealty, ‘The beauty of the darkness are the stars that bring light, much like the lights I saw in your eyes the evening we met’.” A flush of color deepens Auros’ already navy skin as he fights to reclaim his words. “Or how about this one? ‘The way of the world is in no way reflected in the way I’ve chosen to love you’.” 

“Those words weren’t written for you, Vig!” At long last, he snatches the letter back, scanning its contents for anything that would give away the treachery committed within the heavily hinted proclamations. “You weren’t even meant to find this.”

How had he? They met in secret miles away from either village or town in a gathering of trees marked only by a star. There was no way to find it unless the one looking knew what they were looking for or, dare he suggest--

“Vigor, how did you get this?” 

  
What had been a jovial demeanor straightens instantly. “And I’ll ask for a second time: care to explain? If you can do that much, I’ll only tell the others what you want me to, but you know this can’t continue.”

What gave the impression that it could’ve? Emotions were a dangerous mistress, but not as dangerous as the boundaries between the blood that bound ancestry and the world beyond. It was a truth instilled in them as children, a truth about to be disregarded for treason.

Lust was his charge. Why else would one choose a woman like her, a woman beyond those akin to his own blood, and a woman of religion no less? Her heart had belonged to the Twelve long before she met Auros. To have a man of such wicked blood wearing his heart on his sleeve in her presence despite her dedication to forces unseen? It was unorthodox. 

Despite blood being as thick as it was between those raised at his sides, the calling of love bound him with the youthful, doe-eyed, and open-minded Farrine Sevan. She was a woman a few years past maturity with dreams just as unorthodox as the love she and Auros shared.

While most women her age dreamed of lives in business, house-making, or travel, her dreams spanned beyond the immediate. Dreams of unity, of grandiose speeches between like-minded individuals, of revolution between all walks of life were to encourage peace amongst those that saw only blood rather than how her eyes saw the spirit. Dreams to prove the love and civility that could exist above and beyond differences drove a vision cemented with the conception of her son. 

“He’s our wish upon a shooting star,” she said, “the good fortune of the Twelves’ blessing.”

When she spoke, she spoke not only to those around her, to their child, or to the Twelve, but to the universe. Every word on her lips was meant as a prayer. “He’s to be soft to the touch, as gentle as the sky is blue, with horns like my love and eyes full of stars.” That was how she envisioned him despite desperate attempts from Auros to plant ideas of a child that would accept the world as it was, yet find ways to improve it. He dreamt of their son’s legacy, of the day he could teach his boy to wield words like one might a sword or to charm hearts before he would ever have the chance to instill fear within them.

Their child would be a symbol of what could be. 

Still, all that their son could ever be, before even taking his first breath, was a hopeful sentiment. Hate proved just as wicked as the stigma that branded the blood that coursed through Auros’ veins. The small town Farrine had grown to call home could no longer serve as the town that would raise her ambitions. Her life belonged solely to the Twelves’ guidance and control. Where they directed her, she would follow.

The two traded villages and towns for a small cottage along a road barely traveled. A few necessities had to be acquired through creative endeavors, but the house soon became the home they desperately wanted with no one but one another to serve as their strength.

Farrine’s evening prayer consisted of not just one voice, but now a set of voices raised in thanks, with concern, and with hopes that their decisions were the right ones to make. Blessings were slim but were taken note of on the moments they were presented. The most notable of these being the safe, healthy, and intimate birth of their son, affectionately given the virtue “Divinity” as a symbol of thanks and acknowledgment to the divine forces at work. Heavenly eyes granted that small bit of comfort to ensure that they weren’t entirely walking alone.

Just as Farrine had predicted, their son was soft to the touch and of relatively good temperament. There was no difference between him and the sky’s natural blue, much gentler than the ocean of blue in his father’s skin. Two small keratin tips of charcoal protruded from his temples. Soon they would bud and curl in whatever direction the devils pulled them, a story often told to the children in Auros’ family. It would someday be passed along to Divinity to tell to his children and the tiefling children he’d meet throughout his lifetime.

Even with the unknown of the kind of man their son would become, nothing about him was worth regretting. The path they’d taken, the decisions they've made, and the life now cooing from his cradle beside their bed were meant to be. 

Unfortunately, the wishes of the two were nothing but poisonous beliefs designed to taint the waters the rest of the world drank. Stories of the couple in the woods evolved from hushed whispers between those who once associated with either Farrine or the treasonous Fealty to rumors of their demon child. Most believed it was born as a curse from the gods and goddesses to punish them for their sins. Stories ranged from ones of a monstrous infant with skin that crackled with the fires of hell to ones of an onyx shadow that leeched the life from its mother. Variants were aplenty but not one matched the reality of the serene lifestyle of the small family in that secluded cottage. 

Words passed quickly and spread with the ferocity of a plague. Neighboring towns, cities, and ports were aware of the myths and legends of the demon child, the seductress, and the hellish nightmare of a man that haunted the woods. Something so simple as love itself, bred widespread fear, a fear that was better off nipped for good.

The stories, to the rest of the world, held some element of truth. What that truth was could be debated, but if there was a child in that home, it was better off dead. If there was a couple in that home, blaspheming with plans to speak their sickening tales of unification, they were to be silenced. 

“Love…” What once roused her lovingly now did so with an element of terror. Lights from down the road looked less like passing travelers and more like flames licking the edge of the trees. Not even a year after welcoming Divinity into the world and their serene paradise was being threatened.

“Something doesn’t feel right.” Auros, as quickly as he could, reached for a satchel, filling it with whatever his hands could grab. Farrine readied the baby, hushing him as well as she could while following closely behind, only catching a glimpse at the approaching flames when they pressed through the trees.

There wasn’t much time before they’d be spotted. 

Running was all they could manage. Their home, that cottage, had meant more to them than just the building itself. The idea of a home was what that building stood for, the memories that would dwell past the threshold, and now, what they were taking away from it. The words that were spoken, the ideas that began as simple seeds, the life clutching tightly to his mother’s nightgown, none of those things were lost at the sight of that home, alight, in the dead of night. It was far easier to consider those flames the initial spark of the revolution they hoped to start. While hatred burned the home, the spark was that of change. 

The lights crackled behind the two as they hurried off through the forest. “They’ll know we left.” Auros' hold, tight on Farrine’s arm, aided in guiding her. Eyes as pitch as the night itself spread out the landscape before them, one familiar yet unfamiliar. The cover of endless foliage would always feel like the same that granted them shade in warmer seasons and protected them from the rain of the early autumn. Whatever the weather, whatever the circumstances, those woods were their home, their beginning, and the only thing left was to pray that it wouldn’t be their end. 

“So where do we go?” Farrine spoke up, barely whispering as she shifted her hold on their son. “My father won’t take us back. If anything, he was leading the lot of them. Do you think your brothers--?” 

Without missing a beat, Auros tightened his grip. “No. If I even dared to show my face again, there’d be much more to worry about than a group of townsfolk brandishing torches and blades. Banishment is designed to be the end of the matter. To go back to them… it would be death to us all.” Farrine swallowed, hard. There really was no place to go, was there? However, prayers could still be answered, even if they weren’t vocalized. The Twelve still had a plan for them. 

“--The Church of the Twelve.” It was nothing more than a passing thought, but she spoke with authority. The Church of the Twelve, the chapel and convent she had visited for feast days, for services, for holidays, and in times of aid for a clear voice to grant her answers. They would take them in. 

“Excuse me? The Church?” Accepting prayer was much simpler than accepting the practice of the establishment itself. For one of his heritage to step foot onto what was considered sacred land, wouldn’t there be repercussions? The Twelves’ teachings might have been one thing through Farrine’s interpretations, but when it came to a covenant of individuals dedicated to the service of the divines, would they look at him with the same love that she did? “They’ll let you in, of course, but what makes you think they’ll open their hearts to me?” 

“Because I’ve said it to you before and I’ll say it again,” Her walking ceased, a forceful tug drew her arm clean of his grasp. “The way of the world is in no way reflected in the way I’ve chosen to love you. If they deny you the right of sanctuary, then they deny me as well. We’ll find somewhere else to go.” The Church may have been their last hope for the moment, but it would be the first of many if they were turned away at the door. For Auros’ sake, she meant what she said. The Twelve wouldn’t abandon them, not now, not when they’ve given her this certainty. “Do you trust me?” 

There was no denying that he did. He trusted her beyond words could affirm, but this was a battle between life and death. If they didn’t find a place soon, the distance they put between themselves and their pursuers would quickly close.

“Always.”

Their pace picked up once again as they made their way towards the Church. Childhood memories lay out the path through the trees, over streams, up hills, down banks, and into the glen that housed their salvation. 

The building itself wasn’t anything special. It was built countless generations before Farrine’s ancestors even thought to settle where they did. Nomads of a time gone by had discovered the derelict building on a hunt and, within no time at all, had made it a place of devotion to the heavenly entities that had looked after them. They had brought them bountiful crops, healthy families, and fulfilling lives. It would serve the Twelve for as long as they were able to provide followers willing to dedicate their lives to service. Those servants were deemed chosen by the divines themselves for their loyalty. They were the bridge between the people and the deities that governed them. If anyone would understand and speak on behalf of the Twelve, it was them. 

As Farrine and Auros approached, what had once been a clear and chilled evening grew harsh with the telltale signs of an oncoming storm. Winds rustled the grass underfoot and drops of rain sprinkled the two from above. “There it is.” The swell of nostalgia quickened her steps. “Just up ahead, Auros! It’s just there!” Once more, she adjusted her hold on Divinity before readying herself for the final push. 

A hand, gentle as it always had been, rested itself on her shoulder. “Farrine…” The way he said her name always warmed her, but for some strange and unexplainable reason, her own name filled her with dread. The rain could’ve been to blame, but it was something else entirely.

She wanted to run, now more than ever, through the gates and up to the door, carved of wood depicting renditions of the Twelve as they governed those that stepped inside, but she turned back. “The beauty of the darkness... are the stars that bring light,” Eyes traveled to the blood spilling over the corner of his mouth. His familiar smile remained affixed to his features. The head of a marksman’s arrow had nestled itself into Auros’ back. Its owner, only a few yards away under the cover of darkness, stood against the flickering of torchlight as their pursuers steadily drew near. There truly was no outrunning them. “...much like the lights I saw in your eyes the evening we met.” 

“I’ve got one!” A second arrow is readied, drawn, and released into the night with the intent to kill. Once again, it finds its mark, embedding itself within its living and breathing target. Auros stumbled, the smile on his face widening still. 

“Auros!”

What more could she do? They were so close. The Church was just up ahead, and they would take the three of them. They had to take them. The Twelve had to take them. It was their wish to raise their child with love, compassion, and teach him the things they wanted to teach the world. They were meant to do it together, as a team. 

“The way of the world is in no way reflected in the way I’ve chosen to love you either… now I want you to take Divinity and keep going.” His hand, still warm with what little strength he could muster, rested lightly upon her cheek. 

“No. You’re coming with us.” 

“I’m staying here.” That smile, that stupid smile, did he not want to take off with her and make it to that coveted safety, to that safe-haven that would shield them from the world that tried so desperately to end their peace? Was he not afraid? “Even if I were to try, they would never let me inside.” 

“You don’t know that!” 

“Farrine… they are not the Twelve. They are not the ones who brought us together. They are not the ones who gifted us with a beautiful son. They are not the ones who look at me the way you do and find it in their hearts to love me. No one will ever match the life the Twelve gave to us, so please, keep going.” For one so strong, it was evident as he pulled her close that there was only so much left he could do to keep going. To hold her one last time was all he could’ve ever wanted to leave this world doing. “I’ll be sure to thank the Twelve for bringing you to me when I meet them.” A final kiss is pressed to her forehead before he urges her forward towards the Church. 

There was so much left unsaid, so many things left for the two of them to do, but to stare death in the face when it came to claim his life and not hers would be doing his final words to her a disservice. If she turned her back on him, would that make her selfish? Could she have tried harder to spare his life as well? The time for morals had long since passed and she immediately took off.

The faint glow of torchlight now spanned the treeline. Hundreds of men, women, and children stood armed with firelight and brandish blades of various shapes and sizes. Militiamen from neighboring towns stood armed with longbows, all taking aim at the single tiefling standing resolute before them. 

Farrine dared not look back a second time. The gates to the Church grounds neared. The desperation to push past the front doors and take shelter from the storm raging not only around her but behind her inched closer with every footfall. The sound of tens of bows firing their freshly sharpened arrows whipped through the wind like birds of prey taking flight. Few shots threatened to take her as well, nearly nipping at her heels, but they could not touch her so long as she kept going. 

Closer, closer, closer--

The lights from within the windows illuminated shadows of those within so clearly she could call them by name. One more push and their blades could not strike her, their flames could not burn her, but the sharp pain that shot down the length of her spine proved that the range of their arrows could still find her.

The force of the impact drove the arrowhead deep within her back. Stopping to succumb to the pain wasn’t a thought. Auros had done what he could to protect them. However long he had managed to draw fire got her as far as it had. Now, the only thing standing between the arrow-fire and Divinity’s chance of survival was her. 

Within seconds, she had passed the gate, ascended the stairs and beat her cold, wet fist against the woodwork. Gasping for breath she called out to whoever could hear her, “My baby--! Please! For the love of the Twelve, please spare my baby!” Again and again, her fist pounded against the door. Someone had to have been there. She had seen them wandering the halls. If they were there, they had to at least hear them. If they couldn’t, then by the Twelve they would be alerted to check the front door. 

Mere minutes felt like hours. The pain had now started taking with it the sensation in her arms and legs. Every pound against the door felt more like a repetitive action played out before her eyes. If she could scream any louder, she’d wail her pleas of mercy until her last breath. 

Whether the story itself held any fact, he hadn’t known.

Bits and pieces may have been fabricated out of frustration whenever he asked and some may have been first-hand accounts from those who had been there the day he arrived. Other aspects of the stories had come to him through dreams. Something told him the Twelve wanted him to know the story as it was meant to be told. Even what they shared with him could’ve easily been written off as an exaggeration or a fantastical way of painting portraits of the people his parents were. 

However, he was never told their names or his own name for that matter.

Barnabae, they called him, de Diabolo Sermo.

The servants of the Twelve told him it meant Barnabus of the Devil’s Song according to an ancient translation. The tale of his family, while dying on the lips of those that first spread the word, still found its way to him through traveling song. Minstrels who wished for a few coppers passed along news and recounted stories as a way to entertain the masses, not fill a child’s head with the missing pieces of his past, a tiefling child no less. No longer were his parents the talk of the town, but the demon child who survived the slaughter left to slink about the convent until reaching the age of eighteen. 

The story of the demon child who traveled from convent to convent seeking the future his family died for caught like the fires that set his home ablaze. It was more an urban legend than a song to sing or a ghost story. It was a tale with an element of truth.

Maybe someday, those who heard would catch a glimpse of a hooded creature or catch a streak of blue out of the corner of their eye.

If they were lucky, they might even hear the sad yet hopeful flitting of a melody played on the pan flute he carried with him to sing praises to those he lost as opposed to the Twelve that damned him.

The Twelve may have brought him to them if only to prove that not even the divines were forgiving. They never gave without an expectation. Taking came naturally to them. Life’s punishment seemed fit for those undeserving of such tortures while the sinners of the world walked free and ignorant to their privilege.

If only they could see the Twelve the way he did and how the idea of the divine was just something to help you sleep at night.

**Author's Note:**

> Barnabae was my first DnD character made back in the summer of 2016. The campaign lasted the summer and was never completed. As of today, his character hasn't been played again, but I've stayed friends with some of the people from that group. 
> 
> If we had continued, Barnabae would have returned to the party to a proclamation of love from one of the members that he couldn't stand because of his openness about his faith. An altercation before he left had challenged the aasimar's faith and he had chosen to pursue love above blind faith. 
> 
> They would have gotten together and, eventually, gotten married to spite the church.


End file.
